


Dependent: Disappearance at the Third Rail

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Detective, F/M, Infiltration, Mystery, Party, Slow Burn, mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Kellar and Nick investigate a group connected with a string of strange happenings - and then things get stranger still.





	Dependent: Disappearance at the Third Rail

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr, tea-petty, for memepipboy, featuring her Sole Survivor, Kellar Curtis, and an episode, "Disappearance at the Third Rail" from her comic, Dependent.

This whole scene felt…wrong. Not bad persay, just out of place, like it was taking place inside of a painting stuffed in the back of a storage room. Kellar often felt like the latter could apply to most of the wasteland; a giant space for forgotten, not-totally-destroyed things to sit and wait out an eternity in. But this suspiciously clean, bizarrely prim room, had to have a degree of separation from it, even if it were just a thin layer of acrylic. 

Where Ellie had found a vanity in such a condition, lead Kellar to believe that perhaps she had more sources than a standard secretary ought to. It was pretty – objectively pretty, not just pretty by wasteland standards, with ornately carved wood that only had the occasional nick or dent, and glass that was only cracked should one’s eye wander to the furthest, upper right corner. 

The top of the vanity was well stocked with a myriad of homemade beauty products that had astounding resemblance to the ones Kellar might’ve used before the bombs dropped; hubflower perfume, something powdery and red that served as rouge and tasted like the phantom of a cherry, and something mucky and dark Ellie had used as eyeliner with surprising skill. Kellar grew increasingly adept at ignoring the faint stinging at her eyes, the longer it sat at her waterline.

Perhaps the most astonishing part of this entire scene though, was Kellar’s own reflection. She lifted her gaze upwards and steeled herself against the urge to cringe away from it.

She looked great; she cleaned up well, she’d known this of course, though she never anticipated having the opportunity to do so again, all things given. Her hair was in an elegant half-up, half-down do, neat and without the spare twig caught in it, and free from the encasings of dried blood. What passed for makeup in the wasteland was indistinguishable from what was makeup pre-war, as it was on Kellar’s face now. She peered at her reflection, watching how this woman’s limpid eyes looked intelligently back at her, from behind her glasses.

Paired with the strand of pearls (another rental from Ellie that she dismissively sourced as being from ‘here and there’) and her blue, satin gown, she was a woman she never thought to be again. Not in this lifetime, and not for these reasons.

“How’s it going in here?”

Ellie’s voice tore Kellar from her meandering train of thought. 

“Good, I’m just about done,”

Kellar turned to her reflection again, this time busying herself with fussing over nothing in particular; she pressed at her pristinely painted lips and straightened her already immaculate gown. 

“You look perfect,” Ellie said warmly, “now it’s time to talk business though. Nick sent me in here to give you a final debriefing of the mission.”

Kellar nodded for Ellie to go on.

“You and Nick will be infiltrating _Les Chacals_ tonight, but don’t let the warm and fuzzy name throw you; they’re gangsters through and through, and based on the carnage they’ve left in their wake, we think-“

“They’ll be going after Hancock next,” Kellar finished, meeting her own iron glare in the mirror.

“Exactly. So it’s crucial tonight’s mission goes well, seeing as they’ve taken root in Goodneighbor, and seemed to have split the loyalties that lay there. You and Nick can’t take on all those jackals on your own, so tonight will be strictly recon, until Hancock and his crew are ready to really snuff ‘em out.”

“Our main targets?”

“Two lemons that go by the aliases ‘Rabbit’ and ‘Wolfman’,” Ellie slid a manila folder onto the vanity beside Kellar, and she flipped it open to find it empty.

She turned to Ellie with one cocked eyebrow that was met with a pointed smile.

“We’ve got nothin’ on them. Wolfman, hulking ghoul that he is, slips by surprisingly easy. Hiding out in Goodneighbor certainly helps, and we have reason to believe they might also be paying off the Neighborhood Watch. Be careful of this one,” Ellie warned, more serious now, “he’s a brute and the muscle of _Les Chacals_ for that reason. There are multiple eyewitness accounts of him tearing someone to ribbons in plain sight – according to our favorite intrepid reporter, anyways.”

“And Rabbit?”

“My warning goes doubly for him. He’s the only ‘smoothskin’ in the bunch, and the brains of the operation. They say he can kill you twice as fast as Wolfman and make it look like an accident.”

Kellar’s eyes narrowed at this.

“That’s consistent with-“

“The string of deaths you and Nick had originally been sent to Goodneighbor to investigate? Yeah. Definitely makes you think twice about every Psycho overdose and suicide you’ve come across in…who knows how long these guys have been active.”

“Yeah,” Kellar rose to her feet and turned to face Ellie. The slit in her dress rose to her thigh and made moving in the stuffy attire, graciously easier. “And it’ll be the last night they’re active if Nick and I have any success at all.”

There came a knock at the door then, and both Kellar’s and Ellie’s eyes went to the source of the sound. A pause. Then the door cracked open, and Kellar could just barely make out the shapes of Nick’s face below the kerosene glow of his irises.

“We ready?”

Kellar grabbed her clutch from off the vanity, using the motion to hide the steadying breath she took as she did so.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The door opened fully and revealed that Nick also cleaned up quite well. He was wearing a tux, which shouldn’t have surprised Kellar in the least; _Les Chacals_’ parties were known for their glitz. What did surprise her was how he’d traded in his usual faded gray trench coat, and battered hat for those of the same style but in a sleek black. That of course, and how good he looked in the new ensemble.

Nick caught Kellar’s eye and grinned.

“They’re rentals, doll.”

Kellar wouldn’t have been able to tell if she hadn’t worn the same exact coat herself at one point; Nick looked right at home in the Shroud’s attire.

“You’d better be careful with it tonight; Kent will have your head otherwise.”

“Lots of fellas will have lots of things of ours if we fail tonight.”

Kellar didn’t much want to think about that either.

“Then we’d better get going.”

As if echoing the sentiment, Nick offered his arm, which Kellar accepted, the flush that overtook her face masquerading as rouge. 

“You’re an absolute vision,” he murmured in her ear.

Ellie had time to wish them good luck before Nick whisked her out the door and into the dry, wasteland night.

As it turned out, traipsing the Commonwealth in heels was high up on the list of things that sucked about the end of the world. Agile as she was though (and Kellar suspected, _only_ because of this) was she able to make the lengthy trek to Goodneighbor without a twisted ankle. 

By the time the glow of the neon signs kissed their faces, it was nearly midnight – haunting hour was nigh, and with it, _Les Chacals_’ gathering. The Neighborhood Watch made their usual round of commentary as they stepped in through the front gates, and the sound of a wolf whistle pierced the still, night air. Nick’s good hand hovered at the small of Kellar’s back, corralling her to the Old State House, where they disappeared through the front door, fringed with its patriotic red, white, and blue. Though, Kellar supposed patriotism didn’t much exist anymore if there was no more country.

The lighting was warmer inside, and much to Kellar’s relief, the mayor and his ever-faithful bodyguard stood at the base of the winding staircase; sparing her the treacherous journey up in shoes that seemed hellbent on killing her. 

“Nickie,” a voice rasped, before the withered face before them split into a wide grin from beneath the brim of his tri-corner hat. Hancock spread his arms, offering a hug both he and Nick knew the latter wouldn’t return. To his credit, he did settle for a firm handshake. 

“Hancock, keeping your enemies closer, huh?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” his dark eyes glittered in the low light as he turned his attention to Kellar, “and Killer!” He let out a low whistle, “Dying might not be so bad if you’re the last thing they see.”

She rolled her eyes, her pride not allowing her to flourish under his compliment.

“Hey Hancock.”

“I owe you two for coming out here for little old me. I think they’re about to kick things off, so you’d better get over there. Mags and Charlie will still be down there if you need any familiar faces, but if things get hairy, you’re on your own,” he warned.

“Ham?” Nick asked, his spindly hand shaking a box of cigarettes from the pocket of his coat out of habit.

“Nope.”

“Why make things easier, right?”

“That’s what I always say,” Hancock chuckled. 

They bid the mayor goodnight and headed to the Third Rail then. The moon was full and seemed closer somehow. Bloated in size, like the face embossed in it was holding its breath to see how the night turned out. That made two of them, Kellar thought. 

A bouncer that was not Ham opened the velvet rope to let them in as Kellar and Nick flashed their invites; a small card that passed for white in the wasteland, with the passcode scrawled across it in black ink; _feral dogs fight dirtier._

Kellar’s grip at Nick’s arm tightened as he led her down the stairs. They had descended these steps many times before, each and every one happier than this time. Now Kellar felt like she was entering a dungeon, or perhaps crossing the final distance to the chopping block.

The Third Rail’s main room as they entered it, was barely recognizable. Instead of the usual sultry lighting and brassy tones, it had been redecorated to resemble more of a ballroom. It seemed like whoever Rabbit and Wolfman were, they enjoyed the finer things in life. 

The tables had been dressed in starched, white linens, accentuated with a thin vase holding a few hubflowers, and illuminated by candlelight. It reminded Kellar a lot of the fancy restaurants she and Nate might go to on their anniversary, with portion sizes that would leave a small child wanting. The room was brighter than usual too; partly due to the fact that it was uncharacteristically immaculate, and also due to the white, string lights that had been tastefully crisscrossed about the room. The flower of Goodneighbor herself wasn’t to be seen in her iconic red, sequined number, trading it in for a silky black dress with a slit up the side. 

If this change bothered her, Magnolia never showed it; she was singing with her usual timbre, though Kellar noticed that the set was toned down from her usual vivacious score. Kellar tried hard to bite back the frown that threatened at her lips, but quite frankly it was disheartening to see Magnolia rendered to background music.

Kellar let Nick guide her to the bar, where the slid onto the barstools with just a seat between them and the other guests. Whitechapel Charlie was silent as he whizzed about, carrying drinks to patrons who called them out like jeers, not a cap to leave their pocket. It made Kellar’s stomach sour when Nick did the same for them.

Her fingers fidgeted at her beer, for the first time in several centuries, sweating in her grip, as Nick twisted in his seat, a look of faint admiration playing at his features as he surveyed the room.

Kellar knew better than that though. She turned to face him and tried to look adoringly at him. It was easier than she’d like to admit.

After a few moments, Nick caught her eye, and his lips curved upwards into a smirk. He looked different to Kellar then; a bit more lethal, like the rest of the men here, rather than her Nickie, albeit still handsome. He crooked the finger of his good hand up and beckoned her closer. With a gulp, she obliged.

His lips were at his ear, and she stifled a shudder as if he had breath to tickle her with.

“I did a quick once over of the room. I see several guys who could be ours.”

Kellar batted her eyelashes and raised her hand to her mouth. Her shoulder shook with fake laughter, as if Nick had told her a good joke. When she stilled, he spoke again.

“You see the table over there? - Careful now; don’t look too quickly. Use your peripheral vision. That’s it; the one with the nicest furniture in the joint.”

Kellar leaned further into Nick so that she could more accurately see from his eyelevel, and let her eyes turn inside her still head. In perhaps the only shadows the room was beholden to, she caught the porcelain visage of one of the only other ‘smoothskins’ here. His hair was dark and slicked back, his pinstripe suit creased as if it hadn’t been aged two-hundred years and tossed amongst the debris. 

While his face was too impressive to fit his namesake, Kellar thought she saw the top of his wingtipped toe twitch, and in that moment, she thought he looked quite rabbity.

Now it was Nick’s turn to feign laughter. Kellar smiled contentedly, and as both of their forms bowed into each other, their foreheads brushed.

They must look like lovers here, tonight, she thought. The act was almost so thorough, she nearly believed it herself. Heat suffused her cheeks and wafted at her shoulders and the tips of her ears.

“What about Wolfman?” Kellar asked softly, her lips at the shell of Nick’s partially ruined ear.

Nick turned his face inwards and Kellar balked at his sudden proximity. A little faster and they would’ve-

He caught her eye again, before shifting his gaze sideways. Kellar followed his lead to where he showed her the hulking ghoul on the lavish sofa beside Rabbit. His gray suit strained against his bulk, each button, if it could talk, would’ve screamed.

Kellar wondered how many times Wolfman had evoked such responses in things that _could _scream.

His nose skimmed at her cheek as he beelined back to her ear. Kellar forced herself to hold still.

“That area seems to be where the important people are; even if they aren’t Rabbit and Wolfman, they could damned well lead us to them.”

Kellar nodded slightly. Keep your eyes peeled.

“They don’t look armed,” Nick continued, “but I’d bet a month’s worth of caps that they’ve got security detailing. See the brutes around them?”

Kellar let her eyes rove around, searching out figures that matched Nick’s word choice and weren’t Wolfman.

“Those are the guard dogs. If things get rough, avoid them like the plague.”

Kellar nodded again. Normally, they’d be the first ones to take out, but given the dress code, they were particularly light in defense this evening.

Nick pulled back and studied Kellar for a moment, his mouth curving up into the barest hint of a smile. She knew right away that this part wasn’t acting; this was the real Nick. He leaned in again, and Kellar’s breath caught unwittingly in her throat.

“One last thing doll; ya see that dame, over there?”

Kellar spotted a beautiful woman with ink-black hair cascading down her shoulders. At the other end of her dainty arms, she nursed a fluted glass of red wine.

“I see her,” Kellar breathed.

“Right. You see that drink she’s holding?”

Kellar nodded, trying to temper her growing enthusiasm. Between the swanky get-up, and all the smoke and mirrors, she thought the anticipation might actually kill her.

“That probably means…”

Kellar strained her ears.

“That she’s drinking that.”

Huh?

The motion was so automatic, she almost forgot they were in the middle of an operation. Nick might’ve too, although his laughter fit right in with their ruse. Kellar shot him a look before playfully smacking his shoulder.

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

As the night wore on, Kellar and Nick managed to seamlessly migrate from their original spots at the bar, to the cozy seating area across the room from where Rabbit and Wolfman sat amongst colleagues. The furniture was the same luxurious red, any wear and tear rendered imperceptible by the cocktail lighting that had taken over the room.

Kellar sat in recline at the sofa, her legs crossed as primly as the slit in her dress would allow her to appear. Nick sat beside her, one arm braced at the back of the couch so that it still hovered above Kellar’s shoulders, while his ankle rested at his knee. They were watching now, just watching and sipping their drinks. The crystal on the coffee table held something a bit stronger than just beer now, and Kellar found herself sampling her drink less and less. If the mission was to fail, it wouldn’t be because she got drunk on the job.

She watched the big, hulking ghoul from across the room. When he sat in recline, he resembled more so a hunk of freshly butchered meat than a man, and despite how silly she felt thinking it, she couldn’t help but be a little in awe over the woman perched at his lap.

It was the woman Kellar had seen with them all evening; silken black hair like raven feathers, and a red dress that reminded Kellar of Magnolia’s, though rebranded for a black widow. Her dress had a slit up the side as well, and Kellar watched how Wolfman’s hand hovered at least a few inches away from the exposed skin of her thigh at all times. 

This struck her as odd.

She was no expert herself, though if her mind had been asked to construct a scene with the woman and Wolfman, it would’ve been with him grabbing her as he liked at best, and snapping her in half, at worst.

He did neither though, rather, the more Kellar watched, the stranger the scene seemed to become.

Another ghoul in a tacky suit approached him, his hand raised as if he were about to shake Wolfman’s. However, something lingered as Wolfman met his reach; the ghoul’s hand idled. 

She’d bet anything he’d slipped something into the larger ghoul’s hand. 

Kellar was openly staring now, and Nick’s lips found her ear again.

“Easy. You’re too obvious right now. What are you seeing, Kel?”

Kellar felt her body pull taut like the string on a violin; her instincts urged her to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t. Not when she watched Wolfman’s fingers close around something, not when she watched the woman reach her hand up to the man’s shoulder and _squeeze_, and not when Wolfman transferred the object into the woman’s daintier hand, where she then slipped the object beneath the neckline of her dress.

That was it. That was _new_.

Realization reverberated through Kellar so strongly she barely registered when the great, big ghoul turned his surly eyes to her. 

“_Kellar_!” Nick hissed.

That’s when Kellar’s fight or flight instincts kicked in. Hard. Mind reeling so fast, she couldn’t hear her thoughts until they were playing out before her, Kellar found herself swinging a leg over Nick’s lap to straddle him, her hands bracing at his shoulders. She felt him tense beneath her, and while she wasn’t immune to the nature of her actions now, the raging blush at her face had nothing to the hoard of angry mobsters they’d have barreling towards them if their cover was blown.

“Wait,” she said in a low voice, and Nick relaxed. “Play along.”

Nick’s good hand came to rest tentatively at Kellar’s hip, while his broken one fell a few inches short, lax and open like a ready bear trap on the sofa beside them. For an instance, Kellar’s heart ached at the similarities between Nick’s hand, and the way Wolfman held the woman, but then the reality of their situation set back in, and she was forced to bat it away.

“I think I saw them slip Wolfman something, and Wolfman gave it to that woman there. And I think that something might be important.”

Nick’s face turned inwards towards her own, his eyes finding hers. The yellow of his irises wasn’t chipper now, but alarming, like the reflective gear construction workers wore.

“So our mission just got a little bit more difficult then. We need to find out what that was, and who it was meant for. Good catch. Anything else?”

“I think they might’ve seen me.”

“Ah.”

From Kellar’s peripheral vision, she thought she saw a shape elongate towards the ceiling, and her heart seized against her ribcage. _Oh god, don’t let it be Wolfman. Don’t let him get up. Don’t let him come over this way. Don’t -_

Kellar hadn’t realized she was shaking until one of Nick’s hands came to cradle her cheek. She stilled to his touch as if he were holding her in place, though the hold he had on her was not one of a physical magnitude.

Her eyes found his kerosene ones once more.

“Easy,” he murmured, so close to her, she could feel the phantom of the movements dangerously close to her own lips. “Play along, remember? We’re just at a party.”

“Right,” Kellar said weakly, “a party.”

They both held still then. That is, they held each other still. Their trembling breaths smoothed into silence, their hold maintained them like a frame preserved a picture, and Kellar suddenly felt completely and utterly at peace. 

If a gargantuan, angry, mobster was about to crush her skull like a pea, then she was certain there was no one else she’d rather be with when it happened.

Moments passed. An eternity did as well. 

When Kellar finally hazarded a look back towards the furniture, Rabbit and Wolfman were still speaking, the woman was still in his lap, and she and Nick were still two, straddling flies on the wall. Kellar exhaled in relief and sagged into Nick.

“I think the coast is clear.”

Nick cleared his throat.

“That’s good,” he said, rather gruffly, “you did good.”

Nick’s hands dropped awkwardly from her, and she could tell that while he couldn’t keep them on her, he didn’t know of any place better to put them. Kellar felt a vicious heat rise up in her own cheeks.

“Relax,” she chided, “we’re at a party, remember? Though I didn’t think it was _that_ sort of party.”

“Are you planning on staying up there all night?” he complained, though his mouth curved into a small smile, “Or am I going to have to get Wolfman over here after all?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kellar retorted, though the heavy flush to her cheeks sapped her words of their bite.

She and Nick sat there for a few moments in a heady silence, and suddenly, Kellar needed to drink. A lot.

Before her hands could move towards the half full glass on the coffee table though, Nick rose to his feet, his hands burrowing into his pockets. Kellar sent him a questioning look.

“I’m just going out for a smoke, doll.”

“Oh.”

Kellar couldn’t keep her brow from furrowing.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I can make it out and back just fine. No need for you to make the trip too,” he reassured. “Besides, I see someone else coming to keep you company.”

Then the part of the sofa beside Kellar divoted sharply, and who else but Mayor Hancock settled in where Nick had sat before, the red of his frock bleeding into the red of the sofa.

“Hey Killer,” he grinned toothily.

Kellar’s lips fell agape in shock, her manicured eyebrows flying upwards.

“Hancock! What are you _doing_ here?”

“Saw you and Nicky and thought you might need an extra hand,” he waggled where his brow would’ve been, and Kellar reddened indignantly.

She turned sharply to where Nick had been, ready to have him champion all the reasons Hancock should leave right then and there, but the old cop had already disappeared out of the Third Rail.

Dammit.

“Take a load off,” Hancock stretched so his arm was slung around Kellar’s shoulders, and he reclined into the cushioning as much as he could, crossing his boots on the coffee table. A couple of patrons who noticed as they flitted by tossed him dirty looks. “If anything, they’re less likely to suspect I’m in on it now.”

Kellar was still frowning, but she couldn’t deny his somewhat sound reasoning.

“Back to more important business,” Hancock continued, “you and a certain detective seemed to be getting pretty cozy.”

“It was just because we thought our cover had been blown,” Kellar mumbled, her gaze sliding beneath Hancock’s knowing one.

“Hm. Could’ve fooled me,” he gave her shoulder a squeeze, “Not that it’s any of my business, but I’ve known Nick for a long time, and I’ve known you for…”

“You know me now.”

“Yeah, right. Well, point is, he’s good people, and so are you, so –“

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Kellar suddenly snapped before she could snatch the vitriol back, “but I was married. Happily. My heart belongs to my husband,” she said coldly.

Hancock retracted his hands, putting them up into the open-palmed gesture of surrender.

“Of course, you love your husband. That love never goes away. But…he’s gone now.” Hancock’s voice was uncharacteristically tender, and it made Kellar’s gut writhe inside her like a snake, or maybe that was just her white-hot guilt eating through her. “He’s dead, and you’re not. You shouldn’t have to be alone. I’m not getting at anything – but,” he looked at her now, dark eyes glittering in the low light to reflect his sudden seriousness, “if two good people can make each other happy, I think that’s a good thing too.”

Kellar shifted in her seat, her throat suddenly growing tight.

“Nick’s been gone a while,” was all she could find it in herself to say.

“Miss him already?”

Kellar shot Hancock a look that could’ve soured milk, though he rose to his feet quickly after she did, and they headed towards the stairs. Her stomach dropped before they’d even finished making the ascent again; something was wrong. Nick was usually back from his smoking before he was even missed. 

Hancock opened the door, holding it open so Kellar could step out into the cool, Goodneighbor night. Always the gentleman, even in the preamble of a crisis. 

Just as Kellar thought, Nick was no where to be found. The only thing left was the crushed butt of a cigarette into the pavement, and the lingering stench of smoke. Kellar scanned the outside; it was eerily quiet for just ten o’clock on a Friday night; although perhaps this was the new norm under the tyranny of _Les Chacals_.

“Shit,” Hancock muttered, “you were right. I gotta listen to those synth senses of yours more often.”

Kellar crouched down to study the crushed ash and flattened paper of the cigarette butt; was there a trace of Nick here? Could it whisper the direction he’d been taken in? Her eyes scanned her surroundings again, this time from the lower perspective. Still no witness to be found, save for the stars above that blinked unfeelingly back at her.

She shivered a little from the chill, missing Nick’s guiding touch at the small of her back. No use crying about it now; she raised her hand to the chipped brick at the side of the Third Rail, feeling the abrasions and pores in the worn stone as she did so. 

Then, her fingers brushed against an area that shouldn’t have felt different to her, save for the slight increase of a gritty, powdered residue sloughing off into her hand. Kellar raised it to inspect it; white and chalky.

“What’ve ya got there?” Hancock peered over her shoulder.

“A clue…maybe,” Kellar’s face creased in her concentration, and she searched the wall around where her hand might’ve brushed to find the source of the dust.

To her relief, she didn’t have to search far; before, it might’ve been something easily dismissed as a child’s attempt to draw on the brick by scoring it with a rock, but in light of Nick’s abrupt disappearance, the five, spindly scratches embossed into the bricks’ surface was undoubtedly a breadcrumb for them.

“Well, I’ll be,” Hancock shook his head slightly in awe, “I can see why Nicky keeps you around.” He raised a hand to point at the scratches, tracing the way they seemed to drop off the corner of the building, and into the inky darkness of the alley. “It looks like if he was dragged, he went that-a-way.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“Well then,” she heard Hancock shuffle up beside her, and something cool and smooth brushed against her fingers. When she looked down, Hancock was pushing a handgun into her grip. “Killer, we’ve got a detective to rescue.”

He stretched out his other arm around her in a ‘ladies first’ motion, and Kellar took her first step into the shadows.

She hadn’t really known what to expect at the end of the trail, so to speak, but a strip club was at the bottom of the list. The dank, shadow-blotted alley had melted into bricks bathed in a scandalous pink, and when Kellar looked up, _Livy’s Hideaway_ was embossed in neon, curlicue lettering across a brick building that was so battered, it looked like the other structures in Goodneighbor had ganged up on it, and taken its lunch money.

“Huh. Didn’t know another one of these popped up here,” Hancock commented, as he regarded the peeling poster of a saucy, pre-war pinup plastered on the heavy, metal door. “Do we really think they’re hiding Nicky in there though?”

Kellar eyed the poster, where it conveniently peeled over an assumedly luscious bit of the woman printed.

“This is where the trail ends. Plus, it seems a little empty for a nudie club on a Goodneighbor Friday night, don’t you think?”

Hancock didn’t answer but stepped up to brace his hands against the metal door. Kellar’s hands absently found the gun Hancock had given her earlier. She held it out and pointed, her finger sliding the safety off. Hancock paused for a few moments, taking a deep breath before he kicked the door open. Kellar and Hancock fanned out the best they could, but everything was done in whorls of shadows and sinister red lighting. 

Everything was silent and still, save for Kellar’s racketeering heart as it vaulted in her, determined to exhaust itself before someone had a chance to put a bullet in her.

When Kellar’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she could make out the silhouettes of tables and booths, their leather gutted in some places to display their stuffing viscera. A bar that was stocked in only empty bottles flanked the center stage with various poles spaced out to accommodate several dancers – none of whom could be seen.

“There’s no one here,” Kellar muttered, not lowering her gun or her guard in the slightest.

Hancock pressed forward as her eyes swept the room again, and before he could fully disappear behind the bunches of heavy, felt curtain by the stage, she heard him stomp his boot against wood. The impact of his sole against it reverberated where before his footsteps had landed solid blows to the dingy club floor.

“I’ve got something over here,” he called.

As soon as Kellar joined the good mayor, she could see exactly what he’d found; a trap door, partially covered by a tacky, threadbare rug. He kicked it away, clearing the way for Kellar to reach for the handle, and tug harshly.

Much to both of their surprise, the door relented easily, allowing cold, sterile lighting to filter out, illuminating the ladder that dropped down below. The faint scuffling that sounded down below made Kellar’s stomach drop inside of her, and it was enough to pull her down the hatch. 

Hancock followed quickly after, and by the time his feet had found solid ground again, Kellar was already nestled amidst the group of bound and taped hostages, one of whom had an eerily familiar pair of kerosene eyes but was missing his battered fedora.

Kellar’s hand was prying a healthy strip of duct tape from the old detective’s mouth, and everyone was grateful for his lack of nerve endings when it came loose with a rough tearing sound.

“You found me,” his mouth curved upwards into a pleased smile, in spite of everything.

The few hostages huddled together, though not exactly of their own free volition, shrank further into themselves. Kellar didn’t have to look to know that their captors had come back. 

Nick and Hancock, neither being novices to this sort of thing, pretended like the temperature hadn’t dropped ten degrees in the room as everyone’s blood went cold. Kellar’s hand itched for her gun which was holstered at her hip from the climb down, and she resisted the urge to grab it and start spraying bullets.

“I found you,” Kellar managed a stiff smile back, “so let’s get you out of here and-“

A violent clatter ruptured from behind her, signaling that the jig was up. Kellar whirled around just in time to see Hancock skitter sideways into a tray of surgical equipment. A _chacal _in a dirty suit loomed over the mayor as he scrambled to his feet, just in time to dodge another blow by the wide swing of a lead pipe.

Losing his balance, Hancock let himself roll into his fall, then shot a leg out to knock the mobster over as well. As soon as the other ghoul went down, Hancock was on him, small, meaty fists battering the other’s face until his leathery skin was stained an oily russet with his blood.

Meanwhile, Kellar tugged futilely at the manacles of duct tape binding Nick’s wrists, but she couldn’t get them loose without something strong to cut them off. At their thickness, she ventured only something like garden sheers would do the trick; something they had to do without at the moment. 

“Look out!”

Kellar registered Nick’s warning just in time to avoid being bludgeoned by a baseball bat. As Kellar recovered her balance, she noted the musty brown stains the pine was finished in, and the crooked screw spiking out of the business end.

One trembling hand reached for her gun, and then she and the other mobster were circling each other. This should be easy, Kellar thought, her opponent had brought a…erhm, bat, to a gun fight. This meager reassurance was paper thin though as she felt a bead of sweat slide down her palm, collecting where the handle of her gun and her skin connected.

Then the mobster lunged at her from across their orbit, breaking it with the foul arc he drew the bat in. It was a big, obvious movement and Kellar could’ve easily dodged it, but seeing him rush towards her, the only truth that rung in her mind was the one that was slipping through her fingers right now.

This man wanted to hurt her – _kill_ her, had wanted to hurt and kill Nick, and probably had done so to a number of people that far exceeded the count in this room. She could bring him to the floor, crumpled and harmless, she could turn a killer into a doorstop. 

Her feet planted and it wasn’t Kellar who pulled the trigger as her fingers closed around the gun, but some deeply rooted instinct within her, that took great hold of her, and squeezed in her stead.

The gunshot rung out, and both ghoul and bat dropped to the floor, stopping short of smearing her brain matter onto the bizarrely pristine walls that stood behind her by inches.

Kellar’s chest heaved as she let out a shaky breath, feeling finality as she looked down at the corpse. It had been a perfect headshot, at near point-blank range in his closing proximity.

“Killer! Behind you!”

Hancock’s thin voice reached Kellar’s ears just in time for her to whirl around and see the last mobster rushing her. Hancock’s opponent was potentially dead, though it was hard to see for sure beneath his mask of gore. Kellar felt the reach inside of her aim the gun expertly and pull the trigger with executioner seamlessness. 

But instead of the heralding call of gunshot, only a dismal, useless _clack_ sounded. 

“_Dammit!_” Kellar hissed in horrified frustration, though the unwavering hold inside her seemed unfazed.

She brought her arm up then, holding the gun in a strange, reverse sort of way, that brought a myriad of doubts to Kellar’s mind. What if she missed? What if she didn’t hit hard enough? What if –

The barrel of the gun connected with the mobster’s head in a sound that was reminiscent of cracking an egg with an incredibly thick shell. He dropped like a deadweight, and Kellar felt the crushing hold in her release. She breathed freely for the first time in what felt like years.

The whole fight had taken no more than fifteen minutes.

When the adrenaline had settled inside her once again, she turned to see Hancock had already cut a few of the hostages loose. They stood about, some running tired hands over their faces, as if it might do something to ease their frayed nerves. Shaken as they were, they seemed unharmed and Kellar felt herself visibly untense in relief as she saw that the same was true about Nick.

Perhaps out of habit, he rubbed at his now freed wrists, both on his good hand, and his skeletal one, soothing silicon where duct tape had razed the area before.

“You did good Kel,”

“I don’t know; it was our first recon mission and if Rabbit and Wolfman haven’t cleared everyone out by now, then the moon is most certainly made of swiss cheese,” Kellar couldn’t help but grin though; so long as Nick was okay, they could always plan another mission.

“Then we can slice it up and put it on some victory and cram sandwiches,” Nick chuckled, “because while we didn’t stop Rabbit and Wolfman completely, we do have a few things of theirs that might come in handy.” He gestured around them to the hostage basement that had been only minutes away from becoming a murder and who-knows-what-else basement. What secrets the old filing cabinets and desks must’ve held. “But if you don’t think that’s worth celebrating, then how about the part where you saved this old synth’s life?”

His voice grew quieter at the end, and Kellar bit her lip, steadying herself in the face of such potent tenderness that she had to think solid thoughts and will them to her knees.

“Yes,” she cleared her throat, “I do think _that’s_ worth celebrating.”

She had already averted her eyes to safe, non-Nick territory as she felt the familiar smoothness of his hand clasp in hers, squeezing comfortingly.

The rest of the night seemed to pass by in a blur, relative to the hours she and Nick had spent sipping their drinks and squinting at _Les Chacals_. As predicted, Rabbit and Wolfman had cleared out the Third Rail as Hancock and Kellar found themselves preoccupied tracking Nick and the other hostages. By the time the trio had returned to investigate, there wasn’t so much as a drop of cabernet sauvignon left.

However, Nick had been correct in his assumption that not all had been lost. 

The fruit of their recovery mission at _Livy’s Hideaway_ lay neatly before them back in the Old State House, in Hancock’s private quarters. Need-to-know personnel only; even Fahrenheit had been resigned to standing watch outside the room. A carefully partitioned photograph separated Rabbit’s long face, the large ghoul from earlier, and the woman who sat atop his lap. 

Beneath, were an assortment of various letters, ledgers, and documents of varying incriminating degrees. In a stack beside the array of evidence, due to the lack of space on the table, was a formidable pile of business deeds and receipts for payments to staff that filled and maintained them all. The larger numbers were, incidentally, for those whose only task consisted of turning the other away at the right time. 

Kellar’s gut seemed to squirm, as if this new knowledge has poisoned her; emptied her body of its contents and filled it with poisonous vipers. She, Hancock, and Nick watched the names of familiar business flit on by as Hancock fanned through the pages. 

“The Dugout Inn, the Mega Surgery Center, hell, even the _Schoolhouse_,” Nick said disgustedly, “they had half of Diamond City pressed under their thumb.”

“If you ask me, it’s that slippery broad of theirs,” Hancock’s dark eyes seemed to drill holes into the woman’s photograph, and his fingers, that had been fidgeting with his switchblade, stabbed the party end of the weapon so that it cut through the paper of the picture and dug into the surface of the table, half demonstrated, half threateningly. 

“To think Wolfman wasn’t a _man_ at all,” Nick agreed with a shake of his head.

As Nick said this, Kellar looked to one of the papers atop the pile, folded in thirds, and in the slightest bit of disarray so that it barely drew attention to itself. But, Kellar’s attention was had, and before she could conjure up a good enough reason not to, her hand was plucking it from the stack, and unfurling it before her.

It was full; fuller than she’d thought, but not in blocks of prose, or the wily scrawl of some scandalous correspondence. Instead, blocky typewriter font filled it in a list arrangement of a nonsense staircase.

Businesses comprised the content, although not quite so like the list of names they had recognized. These were not ordinary fronting, and Kellar ventured that it might be because these were so far from ordinary, that trying to cover it within the basis of normal would’ve had the same effect to that of sweeping a rather large mess beneath an exceptionally thin rug.

Here, the true malignancy _Les Chacals_ had bred in the Commonwealth lay, legs spread in its vileness for the rest to voyeur in morbid fascination. 

“Chem lacing, manufacturing, and distribution…” Kellar breathed.

Nick and Hancock looked up at the sound of her voice, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“What’s that, Killer?”

Kellar could not speak for such horrors. She continued to read aloud.

“Subject transplantation, cannibalism, and…”

Kellar flinched away from the paper, letting it flutter to the ground like a leaf, as if it were unburdened by the sins it ensnared.

“Subject transplantation? That’s vague,” Nick murmured, his bad hand reaching up to run wornly at his jaw.

“According to the sheet, it was a synth replacement system similar to the Institute’s, only, instead of just kidnapping, or even killing those they replace they…”

Kellar swallowed thickly, feeling Hancock’s and Nick’s eyes study the difficulty with which she worked around the lump in her throat.

“They ate them, or…”

Hancock picked up the paper as it lay at Kellar’s feet, his dark eyes gleaming as they moved almost imperceptibly across the page.

“What the _fuck_?”

“What? What is it?” Nick asked sharply, unnerved by both his partner’s and the mayor’s horror. “_John_!” He pressed.

“They’re in the leather business,” Hancock said, his face screwed up as if the words soured in his mouth, “the _smoothskin_ leather business.”

Nick’s mouth fell open, the cigarette falling to the floor and smoldering quietly. The air was still, pinned down by their heavy silence. Whatever they’d thought before; that this operation would give them all the answers, that it would put a stop to Wolfman and Rabbit – none of it had come to fruition. Instead of closure, they’d reopened deeper wounds. Instead of pulling out a bad tooth, they’d uncovered a massive infection, festering in what seemed to be the farthest reaches of the Commonwealth.

Only one thing was for certain now; there was only more to be done.


End file.
